


Don't Worry, Kid, I'm Coming.

by crestedcurls (Spacy)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Medical Torture, Physical Abuse, Torture, mccree gets the shit beat out of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 02:40:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18188693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacy/pseuds/crestedcurls
Summary: When McCree's comms go offline, the rest of Blackwatch must step on.





	Don't Worry, Kid, I'm Coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags on this but I live for McCree being beat the hell out of. 
> 
> For more of my work, find me at crestedcurls.tumblr.com! Enjoy and let me know what you think! Commissions will be opening up soon, so feel free to contact me there if you're interested.

“Pathetic.”

Wide fingers gripped at his jawline, digging into the bruises already left there. Hard eyes full of hatred stared down at Jesse, who met the gaze unwaveringly. No matter the pain that lit every nerve, no matter the amount of torture they put him through, McCree had never lost the mildly amused, cocky twitch to his lips.

The brute that had been assigned for his abuse that day left his limited sightline, placing the cowboy on edge. Behind him, something clattered. As coolly as possible, Jesse turned his head against the rope that had been slipped around his neck like a noose, meant to hold his head as straight as possible. It gave little to his movements, instead pressing against his throat until he found himself short of breath. Jesse would have to simply wait to see what they had in store for him when they decided they were good and ready. He settled in to count the seconds.

Finally, after the seconds of his life ticked away, the brute returned. He was met with a relaxed stare, the infuriating half-grin still dominating McCree’s face. Though Jesse’s body burned from the sheer abuse it had sustained—bruises, burns and long lacerations dominating the already-scared surface—he refused to quit his childish act, and was far from giving them the information that they demanded of him. Something would have to give eventually though, lest he be driven insane.

“Gabriel Reyes. What’s his next move?” Clutched tight in one hand, a set of jumper cables that snaked around the pole Jesse remained lashed tightly to, connected to a power source somewhere in the darkness. The gunslinger resisted a shudder, only barely covering the soul-shaking fear with the mocking grin. “One last chance,” the brute repeated, sparking the plugs against each other. This time, he winced. Blackwatch had trained him hard and well, taught him to take pain and abuse well beyond what many could dish out. This was beyond anything that he had ever imagined.

His response was a tight wad of blood and spit, landing directly in the brute’s face. With a growl, he surged forward, pressing the cables directly against exposed skin of Jesse’s core.

There was an ungodly screech as he thrashed, fighting against the rough rope that held him tight to the wood post. Fresh blood burned bright against the darkened skin as the delicate skin around his wrists was broken. It was only when blood dripped from McCree’s nose that the brute released the electric current, pulling back and grinning at the mess that was Jesse McCree.

Jesse sagged against the rope, facing the ground. For a moment, the cocky façade fell to reveal the extent of the torture that had been inflicted on him. His captor grinned victoriously, moving in to grip at his jaw again, pulling that terrified face up, just to spit back into it. The gunslinger didn’t flinch; perhaps he was even used to it. “Blackwatch plans, McCree. Just tell us, and we’ll let you go.”

He took a staggering breath in, attempting to refocus wandering eyes. Jesse wasn’t sure if he was fit to spell his name, let alone explain the highly-confidential and complex plans of the organization. The grin was carefully reconstructed, prepared, before he put it back on. And just like that, Jesse McCree had replaced the mask that 14 volts of electricity had shattered.

“M’boss is sure gonna be mad atcha’. This was the prettiest face he had in Blackwatch.”

The man hissed in disgust and snapped a punch in toward Jesse’s core. There was an audible snap and a faint, pained exhale of air that announced the broken rib. Frustrated, his tormenter flipped off the dim, single bulb in the cell and slammed the door behind him. Alone, Jesse took advantage of the brief peace to slide his eyes closed and silently pray for God, or Gabe, or both, to deliver him home.

They moved him at some point while he was unconscious. Instead of the dusty basement that had been Jesse’s cell for the week that had passed, white walls and the cool smell of antiseptic surround him. Kinda like Angela, he noted absently. Without the torture, of course.

Somewhere above his head, two people conversed. One, the large brute from earlier, and the other was a quieter, more feminine voice. None less vicious, though. This wasn’t salvation, just a fresh form of hell. Desolate and suffering, Jesse let out his first protest in the form of a long groan as the tender skin of his skull fell back on the cold metal table. The newest prison.

The woman shoo’d the brute away, who simply growled at Jesse as he passed. She clipped over, staring down with gray eyes that betrayed nothing. A lock of graying brown hair slipped from the tight, military style bun. There were smiling lines, and thin lips that pursed into a scowling smile. She was not a nice woman, he could tell that right off the bat. More pain would come to him, perhaps worse than the man and his jumper cables.

There was a smile that Jesse swore made his teeth rot. Yellowed, organized teeth shone as she tightened a buckle on his wrist and ankle restraints. “Jesse McCree. Son of Carmen Sandovol and Malcolm McCree. Delinquent. Runt of a gang. Picked up by—“A wetted finger flipped the page of her clipboard, retrieved from a nearby counter—“Marcus Rucks.” She stuck out a hand, finger still glistening, before wincing dramatically at his binds and dropping the narrow digits to her side. “I’m Dr. Orbe.”

McCree couldn’t deny the small wave of terror that shivered through him as she rattled off facts that not even Gabe was allowed. No longer was he simply McCree, the deadly gunslinger. He was Jesse, a simple man that enjoyed a simple life and in the long run, didn’t want much trouble in life. The mask slipped some, revealing the doubt in both himself and those that relied on him to keep the secrets that rattled under those dark locks.

“Don’t suppose yer gonna’ let me outta here.” Jesse mumbled, squeezing both eyes shut. “Be real good for m’health to not be tortured.”

“No, the opposite, unfortunately.” Her voice didn’t reflect the sentiment as a vial was retrieved, red liquid sloshing in the glass tub. An IV that had been missed early was retrieved, Dr. Orbe aligning the needle with the clear tubing. “This is Acetonitrile. It’s not meant to hurt you in small doses, but this is three times the recommended dose. It’s going to hurt, Jesse. I suggest you tell me what we need to know now, before I use it. The thrashing is going to make it damn near impossible to return your ribs to their proper condition.”

Tanned skin paled at the sight of the needle, so close to the IV. No longer was McCree dominating his mind, the idea of a man that couldn’t care about life nor death or what came first. It was Jesse, a ten-year-old with a dead daddy and an imprisoned mother. He was Jesse, who turned to killing as a necessary part of life, who cried silently over every expelled bullet and downed man. But Jesse was still devoted to Blackwatch and those that pulled him out of a life of a downward spiral.

“I don’t gotta tell ya where he is.” Jesse carefully took in a breath, all too aware of the faint burn of broken ribs. “ ‘cuz he’s gonna be here. T’ get me out. Then you gotta deal with him and believe me, he ain’t gonna be happy if you’re gonn’ be injecting some kinda’ Aceton in me.”

The doctor shook her head, but wouldn’t deny the vicious look that resided in the creases of her face. “You’re making a mistake, Jesse.” She offered him one last nightmare-inducing smile before setting his very blood on fire.

His first instinct was to freeze. The drug crawled through his veins slowly, turning the blue into a dark, rich purple that stood out in sharp relief against the tanned muscles. Nothing appeared to happen for a moment, both Jesse and the doctor waiting apprehensively. Finally, it struck. A faint moan forced itself from his hoarse throat, McCree tightening against the tight bounds that held him. Both eyes squeezed shut, worn teeth gnashed as he struggled. Mumbled groans quickly turned to faint whines and whimpers, and finally into full blown screams. His very blood was set alight, the drug burning through his flesh and bones. Jesse was melting, he was convinced. There would be no escape from this, not when the fire burned him from the inside out.

“I’ll be back soon enough to give your next dose.” The doctor clipped out, a satisfied shrug to her shoulders.

Jesse screamed until his voice broke.

The next time someone came in, McCree had slowly reformed his resolve. The poison had worked itself from his system, filtered through his liver until only traces remained. There would be no way that they would get Blackwatch’s movements, no way that he would give up Gabe. No matter the amount of shit and manipulation that Gabe and the others had put him through, Jesse was simply too stubborn to release that crucial information.

A thick noise resounded against the floor, the sound of several heavy boots clattering against the clean tile. Much different than the click-clack of the woman’s heels. Brown eyes flickered open warily, pulling gently against the noose that remained around his neck to keep his head straight. He searched the ceiling above him for the source of the sudden change. Last time there had been change, McCree had ended up with the evil doctor. Whatever fresh hell that they had prepared for him, Jesse was uncertain of how much more his body could take.

“Jesse?” Came the incredulous growl that made McCree flinch. The boots darted closer, McCree tensing in preparation for the incoming blows. Instead, a familiar face floated above him. Fear was an emotion that Jesse had never seen on Gabe’s face, and decided right there that he would avoid causing the man any more disconcert right there. “You good, cowboy?”

Gabe moved, ripping the knife from his belt. Involuntarily, Jesse flinched as he went somewhere above his head to saw at the rope that constantly choked him. Below him, Genji released the shackles, freeing legs that had long since gone numb. Soon enough, his wrists were released and Gabe helped Jesse to raise to a sitting position. Blood, pus, and embarrassingly enough, tears, leaked from his form. Someone pressed a cloth against his face, wiping away the stray fluids; Gabe let out a quiet noise as the broken man leaned into the hold.

“I’m good, boss.” His voice rasped quietly, torn apart by earlier screams. “Ya’sure took a long time gettin’ here.”

“You lived. Can you walk?” Gabe straightened up, leaving the rag in Jesse’s hand. He slipped between the two personas with scary ease. “C’mon, kid, we’re going to get you outta here.”

His head swam as he nodded. Gabe gripped at one shoulder while Genji wrapped his arm around the other. Carefully, they pulled the man from the table, only narrowly catching him from falling to the unforgiving ground below. Boots dragged against the ground, unable to support his body weight. Thankfully enough, Gabe and Genji managed to carry Jesse out to the waiting transport truck outside. There would be punishments later, Gabe making him run until he puked or something similar, for slipping up and getting himself captured. For now, though, it was time for healing. It was time for Jesse to rest, to watch old westerns until he hated the sound of John Wayne’s voice and play board games with the new girl, Oxton, until she twitched weird and ruined the board. It was time for him to go home and heal and get right back out into the field to do it all over again.

Jesse fell asleep on the ride home and didn’t wake up again until Mercy was standing above him, asking him this and that about his injuries. Once her fussing had been satisfied, Jesse fell back asleep.


End file.
